The Originals

“I wanted to pass like Magic, jump like Mike, shoot like Bird, and cover the ball like Zeke,“ says Ben Wallace. “But none of that worked out. So I decided to play defense and rebound.“

Tank top by Polo Ralph Lauren Underwear.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Michael Vick, 26, quarterback.

“Whatever’s gonna happen is gonna happen,“ says Vick of the risks he takes with the ball and his body. “If you worry and play timid, things won’t work out.“ And by playing football exactly the way he wants, Vick can pursue the big goal: “To get to the Super Bowl, man. It’s time for the Falcons to go where they need to go and have fun doing it along the way.“ With Vick on the field, at least we know it’ll be thrilling to watch.

Headband by Nike.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Raha Naddaf

Chad Johnson, 28, wide receiver.

“I played football in high school, I played football in college,“ says Chad Johnson, the Cincinnati Bengal who quite correctly describes himself as the best wide receiver in the NFL. “But now I’m not playing football; I’m a straight entertainer. That’s it.“ He pauses. “At the same time, I’m very productive at what I do.“ Since becoming a starter in 2002, Johnson has averaged over 1,300 yards a season, more than any other receiver in the NFL, and his Bengals have morphed from 2-14 bottom fish into serious postseason contenders.

Board shorts by Versace. Necklace by David Yurman.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Mariano Rivera, 36, closer.

Somewhere deep inside, he must know how good he is. He must know that he is one of two, maybe three, athletes in the world who are doing what they do better than anyone has ever done it before; he must know there’s never been a better closer. But if he does, he’s not saying.

Sneakers and glove by Nike.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Kelly Slater, 34, surfer.

Since turning pro at 18, Slater has dominated the surfscape and isn’t close to done breaking records and boundaries in the sport. “I’m more at my peak today than I was when I was 20,“ he says. “The murmurs I’m hearing now are Wow, Kelly is really relad’ and Oh shit, he’s not worried’ and We can’t put pressure on him.’ I’m just having fun, because I don’t have to win a title to be fulfilled.“

Manny is best known for being Manny. What, exactly, it means to be Manny is debatable and in constant flux—does he care, or is he just good? will he stay, or will he be traded? is it important that his hair looks like gummy worms? and why the hell are his pants pulled down over his cleats?—except for one thing: He’s a hitter. Certified and undebated. Over the past decade, with the Indians and the Red Sox, he has been the most consistent run producer in baseball, averaging .320, with thirty-nine home runs and 124 RBIs per season. How good is that? Hammerin’ Hank Greenberg good. Mickey Mantle good.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Shaun White, 20, snowboarder.

In a sport ruled by tattooed, square-jawed, steely-looking bros, it’s passing odd that snowboarding’s brightest star is an unfailingly polite, slightly goofy, freckle-faced 20-year-old. Yeah, Shaun White can spin on his board three times in the air before nailing a clutch landing and not make it look that tricky. But it’s that flaming, tomato-colored mop on his head that sets White apart; it’s the reason people who have never heard of a halfpipe know his name.

Shorts by Volcom. Sneakers by Adidas.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Candice Rainey

Willie Mays, 72, center fielder.

No player today is as complete as Mays was on the field; there’s no point of reference. The closest thing would be this: a big-league freak with Ichiro’s average, Torii Hunter’s glove, Vlad Guerrero’s arm, Albert Pujols’s power (“I never lifted weights,“ Mays says. “I never worked on it“), and José Reyes’s speed. The likelihood of such an athlete emerging is pretty close to nil, so the memory of Mays—running down moon shots at the Polo Grounds like some perfectly calibrated ball-retrieval system, then smashing a 450-foot bomb the next inning—has become all the more precious.

Pants by Haggar.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Howie Kahn

Kevin Garnett, 30, freak of nature.

Let’s review the numbers, shall we? At 19, he was the first guy in more than twenty years to be drafted into the NBA out of high school. In his eleven seasons with the Minnesota Timberwolves, he has averaged 20.4 points, 11.2 rebounds, and five assists a game. He’s a nine-time All-Star with an MVP trophy back home on the mantel. But what makes Kevin Garnett a true once-in-a-lifetimer is his insane versatility. The dude is nearly seven feet tall, and there’s not a position that he can’t play as well as anyone else in the league. Power forward? Check. Center? Check. Point guard? “I’m not a point guard,“ he says. “But can I play it? Damn right.“

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Raha Naddaf

John McEnroe, 47, server and volleyer.

“I wasn’t the biggest or strongest guy out there. Maybe not the fittest, either,“ says McEnroe. “But I felt like I could intimidate my opponent if I came out with intensity.“ From 1978 to 1992, McEnroe’s strategy worked pretty well—to the tune of three Wimbledon singles titles, four U.S. Open singles titles, ten Grand Slam doubles championships, and three straight years (1981–84) as the number one player in the world.

Suit and shirt by Louis Vuitton.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Howie Kahn

Danica Patrick, 24, driver.

“It’s the racing that keeps them coming back,“ says IndyCar phenom Danica Patrick. “Because if I drove around by myself, it wouldn’t be very interesting.“ She’s probably right: The race is the thing. But here’s what she’s too polite to add: An awful lot of fans going to the track these days would be pretty damned content just to watch her drive around by herself. In fact, she has single-handedly rejuvenated a sport that few people ever followed in this country.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Raha Naddaf

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, 59, of the ’86 Lakers.

“We had Hall of Fame guys on the bench,“ recalls Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, the second-best player on the team, who, that season, played in his sixteenth All-Star Game and won his fifth NBA championship. “I mean, we played one game where we held a team to four points in a quarter. We could attack from everywhere.“

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Kelly Slater, 34, surfer.

“I play a lot of golf, and this pro friend of mine once told me that your shot depends on the lie you have,“ says Slater. “If you have 200 yards to the green but your ball is way down in the rough, you’re not going to be able to hit your 4-iron. Surfing is the same; it’s about understanding what’s possible.“ His experience and poise—not to mention his ability to maneuver a surfboard at lightning speeds—is making pretty much everything possible this year, including a run at an eighth world title.

Shirt by D&G. Jeans by Quiksilver.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Candice Rainey

Ben Wallace, 32, defender.

Wallace grew up playing with seven older brothers who, today, are the only people he won’t (or maybe can’t) guard. “They’re all a little too big,“ he says. But as we all know, Ben’s brothers are not guarding Shaq. He is.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Magic Johnson, 47, of the ’86 Lakers.

“Oh, Showtime was changing the game, man!“ says Magic, who led this team, perhaps the greatest of all time, by filling the box score with twenty-four points, twelve assists, and six rebounds per game. “We’d get out on that break, man, and it was over. The fans… Oh, we were selling out everywhere. People were caught in the excitement—a fast-breaking team that was about making the right pass, making the right play. It was beautiful to watch.“

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Willie Mays, 72, center fielder.

“I don’t like to talk about myself when it comes to baseball,“ says Mays. “You’ve never seen me play. I could tell you a lot of things, but you still wouldn’t know.“ By which we think he means: We’ll never see anything quite that good again.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Howie Kahn

Barry Sanders, 38, running back.

From scrimmage, the story—which lasts ten years and 15,269 yards—goes like this: Barry gets the ball. He jukes, spins this way or that; he accelerates, shifts gears, makes a cut, breaks some guy’s ankle, bowls another guy over, then hurdles another one until he’s speeding toward the end zone, alone.

Track suit by Adidas. Sneakers by Nike.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Howie Kahn

Michael Vick, 26, quarterback.

Comparing Michael Vick with any other player gets you nowhere. First off, he’s a quarterback, and quarterbacks are not supposed to run the forty-yard dash in 4.3 seconds. Second, he’s a quarterback, and quarterbacks are not supposed to be the most electrifying, most elusive, most jaw-dropping players on the field at any given time. (Over five NFL seasons, Vick’s racked up an astonishing 3,000 yards rushing to go along with 9,000 passing.) Third, he’s a quarterback, and even hugely hyped first-round NFL quarterbacks are not supposed to be able to throw a ball seventy yards downfield off the back foot. On the run. But Vick can.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Raha Naddaf

Mariano Rivera, 36, closer.

Ask Rivera how he does his job and he’ll say, “I like to do things right. Sometimes things don’t go the way I want, but I always try to hold my ground.“ Ask about his unfathomable 0.81 postseason ERA, or his 400 career saves, or the fact that he’s only the third reliever to be voted World Series MVP, and he’ll thank his teammates. Ask about his mid-’90s cut fastball, the single most devastating pitch in baseball, and he’ll thank God. And his thanks will come with such sincerity that you’ll wonder: Maybe it really is his teammates, or the Almighty, at work. But no. Pardon the agnosticism, but it’s his right arm.

Trench coat by Canali. Sneakers by Nike.

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Chad Johnson, 28, wide receiver.

The NFL decided to ban Johnson’s good-natured post-touchdown celebrations, which have included an Irish jig, a putting demonstration, and a marriage proposal to a (willing) cheerleader. How will Johnson respond? “Oh, my goodness,“ he says. “It’s gonna be like a soap opera, where you can’t miss one week. A whole entire sixteen-week plot. It’s gonna be a very funny year. It’s gonna be hilarious.“

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Barry Sanders, 38, running back.

Barry’s version of his legendary runs from scrimmage is a little more humble than ours: “If a guy appeared and I had to go around him, then that’s what I did.“

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Howie Kahn

James Worthy, 45, of the 86 Lakers.

“We were unbeatable that year, and we knew it from the beginning,“ says Worthy, no-brainer Hall of Famer and third-best player on the team. “We ran fluidly, automatically, and without hesitation. It was the peak of Showtime.“

Photo: Martin Schoeller; Text: Trent MacNamara

Mark Messier, 45, center.

If you ask Mark Messier what distinguished him as a player over his twenty-five-year NHL career, you’ll get a true Captain’s answer: “Winning championships.“ Messier won five of them—with and without the Great One—for his hometown Edmonton Oilers between 1984 and 1990. At which point, he packed it up and headed east. And as the stubble-headed, bug-eyed, messianic leader of the New York Rangers, Messier hoisted Lord Stanley’s Cup a sixth time, in 1994, forever erasing the notion that he was just Gretzky’s sidekick, Scottie Pippen on skates.